


Never Breaking Up

by zeldadestry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, supernatural season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in his sleep, Dean looks tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Breaking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Post “Torn and Frayed”

He can’t remember the last time Dean smiled at him. In fact, Dean doesn’t even look at him often these days and, when he does, his face is strangely blank, and that’s worse, somehow, than a display of anger or disappointment, or anything else that would show he still cares.

Dean’s passed out on top of the bed he chose, the one nearer the door, even now, but Sam won’t risk attributing that to anything more than habit. His mp3 player still rests in his slack left hand, but one of the buds has slipped out of his ear. Sam carefully takes the other one out, puts them both up to his own ears. Metallica, the black album, “Nothing Else Matters” on repeat. 

Even in his sleep, Dean looks tired. 

Tired? Or broken? Lucifer laughs. Sam never sees him anymore, that part’s over, but the hallucinations lasted long enough that the voice somehow seeped into him, attached itself to his subconscious. It starts up again, sometimes, even now. No matter how rarely it talks, it’s always too often, and Sam does his best to ignore it. He hears the sound of fingers snapping. Defeated, Lucifer brags. That’s it. Done. And that means done with you, too, in case you didn’t catch that. 

Sam listens to the rest of the song, then turns the unit off and places it on the bedside table. He wonders if he could get into bed beside Dean without waking him. 

He doesn’t want you there, Lucifer says, voice ho-hum bored. He doesn’t want you. 

Sam slips into his own bed, falls asleep trying to empty his mind. 

He wakes up, jolted by falling in a dream. He pushes himself to sitting, slumps back against the headboard, hoping to slow his heart from that kick of adrenaline. He turns his head, checking in, and finds Dean curled on his side, already watching him. “I’m ok,” he says, because waiting for Dean to ask, not knowing if he will, is killing him. Dean nods and turns over on his back again. Sam gets out of bed, pulls off his t-shirt and boxers, and tucks himself in beside Dean. He curves against Dean’s side, rocks his hips against him, licks a line up his throat and then back down again, tasting salt. Dean pulls away, puts his hands on Sam’s chest and pushes him onto his back, then moves down his body and takes Sam into his mouth without hesitation. Sam tries to rest a hand on Dean’s shoulder but Dean shrugs him off. Sam lifts up enough to watch Dean’s head bobbing up and down, but when he brings a hand to Dean’s face, Dean freezes, his mouth suddenly going slack. Sam pulls his touch away and Dean starts moving, sucking, again. Sam slides his hand over, hoping to cover the one Dean has resting on the point of his hip, but Dean stills again, and Sam stays there, caught, both of them frozen. You don’t want me to touch you, he thinks. Why don’t you want me to touch you? You’ll play this passive aggressive cat and mouse game but you won’t just tell me what you want, what the problem is? 

“Dean, wait,” Sam’s thumb pushes at the corner of his wet mouth. “Stop.”

Dean pulls off. “What?” he says, sulky.

“Come up here,” Sam says.

Dean shakes his head. “Wanna taste you,” he says, but there’s no want registering in his monotone voice. 

“You can lick me clean, after,” Sam says. “But I wanna look at you, come on.” 

Dean repositions himself on his side, lifts up on one elbow and starts jacking Sam with his other hand. He’s looking down at Sam’s dick, though, not meeting his eyes, and Sam has to settle for just watching him, his lowered eyelids, his teeth pressing down into his lower lip. It’s enough. 

Dean gets out of bed while Sam’s still catching his breath. “Hey, get your ass back here,” Sam says. “It’s your turn, dude.”

“I got this one.” 

“What? Why?” 

“You’re too rough,” Dean says.

“What?” Sam blinks at him. “But that’s how you like it.”

“That’s how I used to like it,” Dean corrects. “Before. But not anymore.” He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Sam stares up at the ceiling, taking in what Dean said. He’s embarrassed, that’s his immediate response, but then he becomes more infuriated than anything else. Sam wasn’t intentionally doing anything the wrong way so why the fuck didn’t Dean say anything? Dean used to like it rough, he used to want it that way, and Sam tried to give him what he wanted. It’s not his fault that Dean didn’t say anything when he changed his preference, fuckin asshole. 

He gets out of bed and stands outside the bathroom door, unsure what to do, but when he hears a muffled groan he throws it open without thinking. Dean’s jerking off over the toilet, and Sam grabs him from behind by the waist and then slams him up against the side wall. Dean stomps his heel down on top of Sam’s foot and it stings, but he ignores it, latches his mouth onto Dean’s. Dean scratches down his bare back, pulls at his hair, and when Sam raises his head, not even sure what he’s being told, Dean slaps him, right across the face. Sam laughs at him. A slap, really, what the fuck, like that even hurts? And then he slaps Dean right back, growls when the blood rises up in his cheek. “That’s kind of pretty,” he says, and slaps his other cheek. “Symmetry,” he says, and Dean responds by driving his heel down onto the top of Sam’s other foot. Sam relents for the moment, takes a step back. “Listen,” he says, although he has no idea what he wants to say. Dean doesn’t wait for him to think, he pushes past him and walks back into the room. Sam follows behind him, shoves him down on the bed and falls on top of him. Dean grapples underneath him until Sam gets a forearm across his throat and then he stills. 

“Yeah,” Lucifer says, “show him all he’s good for.”

Sam pulls away. “Sorry,” he says. Dean says nothing, stares back at him with that same empty, dead-eyed expression, the one that’s the reason Sam started all of this in the first place, because he wanted it shed. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You don’t- you don’t have to do anything, for me. And I won’t do anything you don’t want. Just- let me kiss you.” Dean gives no response. “I want to kiss you.” He touches his hand to his own mouth, then touches the corner of Dean’s. “Please?” Dean lifts his chin, the slightest of nods. Everywhere, Sam thinks, everywhere, his lips traveling, up and down over the slopes and planes of Dean’s face, back and forth across his lips, his cheeks, his brow. He moves down Dean’s body, nuzzles at the join between his groin and thigh, feels like he stays there an hour, tongue flicking over and over that warm stripe of skin, the taste of sweat and oil, more than that, the taste of heat. Sam curls his fingers gently around Dean’s dick and dares a glance up at his face. “You shoulda told me,” he says. “You just shoulda said, I don’t know,” he shrugs, “softer.” He frowns. “Slower, whatever you wanted.” Dean urges him to turn over, then, and settles himself between Sam’s legs, makes a place for himself there, and Sam bends his knees, brings his thighs up to cradle him. Dean’s still not looking at him, but he sucks on his finger and teases the tip around Sam’s hole. “Gonna- gonna fuck me?” Dean doesn’t answer, but he shifts up, so that he’s looking down at Sam. “Wanna-” Sam’s voice cracks. He squeezes his watering eyes shut. “Wanna be-” The answer’s probably no, Lucifer says. Don’t ask if you can’t handle that. He can feel Dean’s face moving closer to his own, he can feel Dean’s breath warm over his skin when he sighs. “Wanna be inside me?”

Dean’s hand presses against his cheek, his thumb stroking over the bone. “Yeah, Sammy.” He leans in, finally, finally brushes his lips over Sam’s. Kisses him. Whispers, “Of course.”


End file.
